Memory Of Her
by othspnluver
Summary: Reid enjoys pissing off his father. His father seems to have lost his way. They're not getting along, but still one thing keeps them from tearing into each other.


**A/N: Okay so I wrote this for my creative writing class and decided to put it up on FanFic because I was really proud of it hehe ... I mean I can't believe I even wrote this after being so... absent I guess you could say.**

**This follows It's Only Life and either before or around Perfect, depending on how you look at it.**

**Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything you see familiar.**

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[Reid's POV]

Disappointment clouds over my father's eyes as he looks at me down at me. With a roll of my eyes, I lean back against the chair I've been sitting in for the past ten minutes. I've been waiting for him to say something. I know I'm in big trouble. It's obvious that this is not the first time I've been in this position. Yet, I can't find it in myself to care. I am, after all,_ his_ son. My indifference affects him.

Suddenly, the angry muttering ceased and a single word was not uttered by him. I can tell as he squares his shoulders, lifts his chin a fraction of an inch, and his eyes harden. There's that look again. I can tell his temper is rising, but a part of him is distracted._ He's_ trying to readme. I swiftly avoid his calculative gaze and try to focus on something, anything, else. I scratch the side of my face, needing a distraction. My eyes dart around the dimly lit room, over the bare bland walls of my father's office, past the mahogany desk and somehow they land on his face.

Oh how the years have not been kind to him. My eyes stray over his sharp features; the ones that most people have a tendency to comment on how similar his are to mine. With a hint of satisfaction, I take pleasure in noting the worry lines creasing his golden tanned face and the usually neatly-combed ash-blonde hair was in disarray. I silently note to myself that_ this_ is my future, except for the piercing emerald eyes boring into me.

My eyes involuntarily flicker to the picture in the far corner of the room; secluded and practically forgotten. Specks of dust did more than just cover the framed photograph; it was coated in layers. Barely visible were three smiling faces. It seemed like that was a different lifetime, different people.

Something tugs and clenches at my heart painfully, almost like a heavy weight was just placed on it, when my eyes fall upon her smiling face. I feel anger swell up in me as memories from years before plague my mind.

_The young child with wide crystal __blue eyes__ and a mop of __blonde hair__ turned his frown into a pout. Suffering from betrayal, he refused to talk or converse with the roomful of adults surrounding him. Only when a gentle pale hand reached out to stroke the boy's light blond hair did he look up. Up into the face of a woman with a heart shaped face, framed with a curtain of smooth chestnut brown hair and warm compassionate blue eyes with mirth dancing in them. The boy's anger didn't diminish completely, but he uncrossed his arms, letting them drop to his side as he leaned into his mother's soft hand, deciding that he's forgiven her. His forlorn expression subsided and mischievousness quickly replaced it._

I shoved aside those thoughts, blocking them from my mind. She was only a memory now, like a faded torn photograph with withered edges in my mind. We stopped being a family when she became a memory. But still to this day, I preserve that picture.

I clench my jaw and tighten my fists, my already pale skin turning another shade whiter. My gaze turns to my father and for a moment I notice a flicker of perplexity cross his features, probably at my sudden change in attitude from nonchalance to anger. In the silence that seemed to stretch on for hours, our gazes were locked in a heated glare, and we wait to see who would give up first. There's conviction set in his eyes; he's ready to make something my fault. Funny thing is that this was one of the rare times that it wasn't my fault. Boy who cried wolf, right?

I scoff with a bitter chuckle escaping past my lips because I know he's not going to hear me out. He's become accustomed to this. Too much has changed over time between the two of us. For a moment, I wonder if things will ever be okay. What would _she_ think of us? I feel as if he's come to a similar conclusion as me. The atmosphere suddenly changes. There's still hostility and bitter resentment, but now a different kind of stillness has taken over. There's an odd mutual understanding that passes between us. Because of that, I avert my eyes first.

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**Thanks for reading!**


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